


aloha 'oe

by biblionerd07



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Friendship, POV Sam Wilson, Sam Is Not Your Therapist, Sam Is So Done, Self Care, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6080760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam needs a break from everyone using him as their personal therapist/medic, so he heads to Hawaii to unwind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	aloha 'oe

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [aloha 'oe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6210580) by [Pearlson613](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearlson613/pseuds/Pearlson613)



> "Aloha 'Oe" is a Hawaiian farewell song and it's beautiful, like all Hawaiian music. Parts of this reads like a "Visit Hawaii!" brochure and that wasn't my intention lol but two of my siblings and their families live in Hawaii and I'm missing them (I'm going to see them in a few weeks!!) so I'm romanticizing it a bit. Also, I wanted Sam to have a vacation and just completely relax and have no emergencies to deal with.

It's 3:00, and the clock is crawling. Sam loves his job. He does. He loves feeling useful, feeling like he's really helping people. He loves being an understanding ear for people who've been through the same things he has. He loves that he can walk into work pale and tired and say, "Bad night" and have everyone nod sympathetically, no questions asked.

But today, his job included a man having a meltdown in group, throwing a chair and freaking out a few other people in the group and having to be restrained. Today, his job included a woman sitting in his office sobbing because the only clinic that will accept her VA benefits is booked through for another three months and she hasn't slept in two days. And there's nothing Sam can do about it. He can't make the system work better for that woman. He can't calm that man down when he's that far gone. Sam's just one man, and he didn't even have time to eat lunch until 3 pm.

So he's tired.

His phone rings. It's Steve. Sam picks it up with a relieved smile, because he needs a _break_. But then he hears Steve take a deep breath, somehow just that sound full of misery, and Sam slumps a little.

"Bucky hasn't eaten anything all day," Steve practically whispers, like he thinks Barnes won't hear him even though those two are paranoid about not being in direct sight of each other for longer than ten minutes and both have super hearing. Sam closes his eyes and counts to five. Then he counts to five again.

Barnes has a problem with eating. And it's not a problem where he thinks he doesn't deserve to eat, or doesn't get to eat until someone gives him food, or whatever dark things Steve's always afraid of. He just...forgets. Sam once sat beside him while his stomach growled through an entire episode of Dog Cops and when Sam asked if he was hungry he blinked and said,

"Oh. Maybe?" Sam's not sure which is worse, the feeling undeserving of food or just the forgetting about eating part.

"Have you asked him if he's eaten?" Sam asks levelly.

"I can't just _ask_ him," Steve says, affronted, like asking Barnes if he's remembered to eat will offend him.

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's not that big of a deal. I usually ask him if I see him."

"He's a grown man," Steve says.

"So are you," Sam points out, more than a little irritated. "And you've known the guy since 1925. I think you can figure out a way to ask him if he's hungry." Steve huffs at him and hangs up. "I'm great, thanks for asking," Sam says to his empty office.

He doesn't get out of work until after 6:00, because that's how the day's going, and it's not like he's going to get overtime or anything like that. He gets home and opens the door to find Barnes at the kitchen table, eyes all shifty in a suspicious way, and sure enough, Sam looks down and sees he's eating the last of Sam's favorite yogurt. And just then he can't find the bright side of Barnes actually eating something.

"Is that the last of my yogurt?" He asks loudly.

"Yeah," Barnes says, licking the spoon. Sam puts his hands on his hips.

"You gonna buy more?"

Barnes shrugs. It's a stupid question. Barnes hasn't set foot in a grocery store since they brought him back. He doesn't do so well with the fluorescent lights and high number of slow-moving civilians who need to pick up and touch one of every single brand of pasta sauce before they can choose one.

"Sam, don't yell at him," Steve scolds. Sam is just about to snap, but it's Barnes who snorts loudly.

"Steve, I'm not a puppy who just peed on the floor," he says, rolling his eyes. "I'm an asshole who ate the last of the yogurt without buying more."

And when Barnes, who has a knife visible at his ankle and who _knows_ how many hidden elsewhere, is the voice of reason in the household, there's a problem.

Steve gets his misery face on, and Sam has to walk to his room right away or he's going to blow up. He's tired and cranky and now he can't have any yogurt. He didn't even want any damn yogurt until his saw Barnes eating the last of it, and that pisses him off more because it's childish and unreasonable. He catches the beginning of a whispered argument between Steve and Barnes, but he ignores it and sits on his bed with his head in his hands.

After a few minutes, he hears Steve's footsteps. He knows it's Steve, because he has weirdly light footsteps for someone so huge. Barnes told him it used to be opposite—Steve used to be tiny, but you could hear him coming for four blocks because he was so loud from breathing hard and clumsily bumping into things. Steve knocks gently and Sam considers not opening the door, because he's still seething a little, just a low simmer in his blood.

But then, as usual whenever Sam starts getting annoyed at Steve's lack of Friendship Skills, he remembers that time in a HYDRA base in Lichtenstein when Sam got pinned down, held down by three guys while a fourth sneered and grinned and pulled out a knife, and Sam thought _My God, this is really it_ until Steve popped up with his shield and _decapitated_ the guy with the knife, cold fury in every line of his face. He looked like some kind of avenging angel, in red, white, and blue with blood spatters covering him.

So it's kind of hard to give up on the guy. He _is_ a great friend, in his own special way.

Sam opens the door to Steve's hangdog face and sighs a little internally. Of course's Steve's reaction is to be mad at himself.

"I'm sorry I lost my cool," Sam starts, earning himself a patented Steve Rogers Constipated Face.

"Sam, I'm the one who should be apologizing," he says, and, well, point. "I bombarded you on the phone and then again the second you got home. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Sam tells him. Steve gives him a look.

"I know I..." He shrugs. "I spend so much time ignoring my own feelings sometimes I forget about anyone else's, too."

Sam can't help but bark out a little laugh. "Who told you that? I know you didn't come to that conclusion on your own."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Bucky. Damn therapist he's going to is making him all touchy-feely." Sam snorts and then they stand there in silence for a minute. “Well, so, how was your day?" Steve asks sheepishly.

It makes Sam laugh again. Steve's trying so hard. "My day sucked so hard, man."

Steve winces. "Do you want to, um, talk about it?”

“Nah,” Sam says. “I really don’t.”

Steve bites his lip, unsure, and then he shrugs. “Well…okay. Do you want to eat pizza and watch Dog Cops?”

“And ice cream,” Barnes’s voice floats down the hallway.

“We don’t have any ice cream left,” Sam reminds them both, showing incredible restraint by not pointing out that Barnes finished that off, too.

“Steve’s gonna go buy some,” Barnes says. “And more yogurt.”

Sam raises his eyebrows at Steve. Steve sighs and shakes his head a little and then says, “Do you need anything at the store?”

They pig out, and Sam knows he should cool it because of the three of them he’s the only one who’s going to end up with a stomachache and possibly a case of the pukes on his morning run tomorrow, but it’s nice. He’s not thinking too much, he’s laughing at Dog Cops, no one’s asking him to make them feel better.

That’s what makes it even worse when Sam gets to work in the morning and finds Clint sitting on a chair outside his office.

“Hi,” Sam says warily. Clint’s holding a wad of toilet paper to his nose.

“Hi,” he answers, voice all thick and muffled. “Would you mind setting my nose?”

Sam stares him down for a minute, unimpressed, and Clint just blinks back at him. “What happened?” Sam asks, despite his better judgment.

“Um…” Clint shrugs. “Just a little dispute.”

“I’m not a doctor,” Sam reminds him.

“You’re a feelings doctor,” Clint says.

“No, I’m not,” Sam corrects him. “I have no doctorate degrees.”

They sort of blink at each other again, and then Clint shrugs again and says, “So…can you set my nose?”

Sam huffs and rolls his eyes and grumbles, but he does it, because he knows if he doesn’t Clint’s just going to go around with his nose all out of place and making a horrible noise every time he breathes until Natasha snaps and shoves it back into place, way less gentle than Sam would be and after the damn thing’s already started to heal so it’s twice as painful.

“Go to a real doctor,” Sam says after he’s done. Clint just shrugs again and walks away, all sloped shoulders, and it’s definitely an appropriate start to Sam’s day, a day that goes much the same as the day before. So when Sam gets home and sees Barnes eating his passionfruit mango yogurt _again_ , all his good will from yesterday disappears.

“Barnes, seriously!” He barks. Barnes makes a face at him.

“We bought two!” He insists. “Look!” He holds up the lid. BUCKY is written in Steve’s large, neat letters. Sam opens the fridge and sees another container labeled SAM. Sam takes a deep, slow breath.

“Sorry,” he says shortly. Barnes just shrugs.

“You put up with a lot of our shit,” he says. “I can put up with some of yours.” The wisdom is slightly undercut by the glob of yogurt on his chin.

When Sam gets a text later that night from Tony Stark asking him for relationship advice, he throws his hands in the air, shakes his head, and mutters a lot to himself under his breath.

“That is _it_. I am _done_.” He grabs his computer and starts jabbing at the keys. Twenty minutes later, he’s booked himself a flight to Honolulu and a stay at a hotel right on Waikiki. Well, okay, not _right_ on Waikiki. Sam’s a public servant, okay, so he doesn’t exactly have the money for a hotel right on Waikiki. And it’s not the _best_ hotel, either, but all Sam cares about is the proximity to the beach and the lack of company he’ll have.

He’s gonna be _alone_ and it’s going to be _blessed_.

“Have a good time,” Steve says, a little forlornly, as he drops Sam off at the airport three days later. Look, just because Sam’s going on vacation alone doesn’t mean he can’t hitch a ride on the back of Captain America’s motorcycle, alright? Sam’s only taking one backpack of luggage, because Sam is doing nothing but lounging for four days.

“You guys’ll be fine without me,” Sam reassures Steve. Steve rolls his eyes a little.

“I know _that_ ,” he insists. “We did manage to live our entire lives under much worse circumstances without you, you know.” He pauses, like he sort of forgot where he was going with this. “But we like having you around.”

“There we go,” Sam laughs. “Listen, I just need some time off, okay? And maybe you two need some time away from me, too.”

Steve’s chin juts a little stubbornly but he doesn’t say anything else. Sam pats him on the back and heads inside to security. He tries to ignore the woman who glances at him out of the corner of her eye and pulls her purse closer to herself. He tells himself it’s because of the crowded security line. He knows it’s not true, but he’s heading out to _vacation_ and he’s trying to stay in a good mood.

Sam gets through security—sure, give him a random pat-down, of course—and makes it to his gate with twenty minutes to spare before boarding.

“Paging passenger Samuel Wilson to the service desk,” the girl in a hibiscus-patterned dress says into the loudspeaker. Sam sighs. What now?

“I’m Sam Wilson,” he says.

“Aloha,” she says cheerily. “You’ve been upgraded to first class.”

Sam’s taken aback. “Whoa, what? First class?”

“Yes, sir,” she chirps. “Everything is taken care of. Mahalo for choosing Hawaiian Airlines.”

“Wow, thanks,” Sam says. Maybe his luck is changing. The flight is long but he’s actually got _leg room_ and it’s glorious. He watches three movies and falls asleep and wakes up just in time for a complimentary in-flight meal. He already feels more relaxed than he has in months.

They touch down in Honolulu and Sam takes the shuttle with everyone else out to ground transportation. The air is humid and hot and smells like flowers mixed with exhaust thanks to the planes. There’s a guy holding a sign with his name on it just by the baggage claim carousels. Sam didn’t reserve a car or anything like that. His heart rate picks up a little. He doesn’t have any weapons; he couldn’t get them through security. His hand-to-hand skills are great, but if this guy is armed…

“Mr. Wilson,” the man says smoothly, evidently recognizing Sam, which does nothing to assuage his fears. “I’m your driver for the duration of your stay.”

“I didn’t order a driver,” he says cautiously.

“No, sir, I am in Captain Rogers’ employ.”

Sam sags a little. “Steve hired you?”

“Steve Rogers, yes, sir. He left this note for you.”

_Don’t be mad. We got you a car for the trip and upgraded your hotel. You deserve a good vacation, buddy. Bucky chose the best room for safety and we covered all the mini-bar, room service, hotel restaurants, and drinks at the cabana. Have a good time. –SGR_

Sam shakes his head, laughing a little. Okay, so those guys have some strange Friendship Skills, but right now it is a-okay with Sam.

Sam crows a little when he gets up to his room, Edward’s number in his phone so he can call whenever he wants to go somewhere. The room is huge, with its own balcony overlooking the ocean, and there’s a shower _and_ a soaking tub, with a chocolate and fruit basket welcoming him to his stay, but it’s not quite opulent enough to make him uncomfortable. It’s perfect.

He considers taking a nap in his king-sized bed, but mostly he wants to hit the beach. There’s already a bottle of sunscreen in his bathroom, along with a note about his massage tomorrow. Okay, he owes Steve big for this.

He doesn’t need to call Edward for a ride to the beach, because the hotel is _on_ the beach. He walks outside and there’s sand and ocean everywhere. The beach is a little crowded, a lot of kids screaming and chasing each other, a lot of body boarders riding the surf, a lot of tourists lying on the sand, but Sam doesn’t mind. He finds a spot to spread out his towel, puts on his shades, and kicks back with a happy little sigh. He’s got a little shade, a bottle of water, and a book, so he’s ready to settle in for a while.

He falls asleep. No big deal—he’s got no agenda. He can sleep for the next three days if he wants. But he gets up and takes a little dip in the ocean, because it’s there and it’s breathtaking. He snaps some pictures for good measure; his mother would kill him if he didn’t take pictures on his vacation. He walks down the beach for a while, buys a few tacky souvenirs from stands set up. There's a man with parrots and Sam gets a picture with one on his head. They have a nice long conversation about fish.

He eats dinner in the hotel’s luxury restaurant, and he has bottomless piña coladas, and he goes back up to his room feeling loose-limbed and warm and peaceful. He throws the balcony doors open to enjoy the ocean breeze and watches the sunset from the balcony with an old fashioned he made himself at the bar in his room.

 _U r best friends in the wlrd_ , he tries texting Steve. The buttons on his phone aren’t staying in one place.

 _Wait until after your massage tomorrow_ , Steve says. _You’ll feel even better_.

Sam didn’t think it was possible to achieve further relaxation than sunshine, free drinks, free food, and a memory foam king-sized bed, but the spa teaches him otherwise. He feels like he has no bones left in his body. He is a lump of flesh in the very best way. He can’t seem to keep his eyes completely open and the nice woman giving him his massage, Leilani, tells him soothingly he can go to sleep if he wants. So he does.

By the time his 80 minutes are up, Sam is seriously considering hiding in the bathroom and never leaving. But Leilani has another guest to attend to, and Sam doesn’t want to get her in trouble, so he somehow regrows some bones so he can get up and put his clothes back on.

He goes back up to his room and eats pineapple from his fruit basket, kicked back on the balcony listening to the crash of waves and the cries of the seagulls. It’s the sweetest pineapple he’s ever tasted, and he eats enough to leave sores on his tongue. He calls up Edward to go do touristy things—Sam feels an intense sense of duty to go see Pearl Harbor, and it’s awe-inspiring and leaves him feeling quiet and a little unsettled.  
  
The video they watch beforehand hits too close to home. And the ship is still just there, sitting in the water. People are taking pictures of the wreckage for their photo albums at home like there aren't still human bodies trapped down there, like there aren't vets who choose it as their final resting place so they can be with their squads again, like it's all just some cool artifact to look at. Sam can't help but think about Steve and Barnes as he looks. Did they know anyone here? Did they have friends down there?  
  
The wall of names makes Sam's stomach hurt. He doesn't begrudge these men their monument. But there is no monument anywhere listing the names of _his_ brothers-in-arms who’ve died; Riley’s name is written in stone only in a cemetery in Arlington. There are no signs in the desert warning people to be quiet and respectful at the resting site of the dead.

But he also goes to the Dole plantation and eats _more_ pineapple and Dole whip. It feels a little strange, in a way, to sweat in the hot sun and eat ice cream and look at pineapple fields after seeing a tomb, and stranger still to think about how many people do it every single day.

Sam gets up early the next morning to hike Diamond Head; it’s so close to the hotel, it seems foolish not to. He finds himself wishing he’d done it the morning of his massage because he’s going to be _sore_. Sam’s in good shape—he’s a goddamn super hero, okay—but that is a lot of stairs to climb.

The view at the top, though, makes it worth it. The water is bluer than he has words to describe. He takes pictures, but they don't do it justice. He feels like he's at the top of the world. He wishes he had his wings. Diving off here, flying out over the water and getting low enough to see the whales and dolphins jumping, would be amazing.

He spends his last day lounging by the ocean, drinking mai tai after mai tai. He _almost_ feels ready to go home when it comes time to check out of the hotel and get on the plane. He’ll definitely never be ready to fly coach again, though.

“Mahalo!” The flight attendant tells him as he gets off the plane at JFK. He smiles at her.

“Mahalo,” he says, laughing a little.

Steve’s waiting for him, driving slow on his bike so he won’t have to circle again, and he grins when he sees Sam.

“Look at you!” He says. “Looking tan and happy.”

“And _cold_ ,” Sam complains. “Damn, I’m going back until summer.”

Steve laughs and hands him a helmet. He won’t wear a helmet himself, but he insists his passengers—especially those passengers without increased healing or superhuman thick skulls—wear one. They get home and Barnes looks up with a crooked little smile when they come in.

“Good vacation?” He asks.

Sam pulls off his backpack with a sigh. “The best,” he says fervently. “Seriously, thank you, guys. That hotel was amazing.”

“They could do with some better security,” Barnes mutters, and Sam feels fond instead of exasperated. Barnes has his own extra special Friendship Skills.

“We’re glad you had a good time,” Steve says. “You deserve it.”

It was a much-needed recharge. Later that night, when he sees Barnes finish off the last of the orange juice and about to put the jug back in the fridge, he just raises an eyebrow and says,

“Are you really about to do that?”

Barnes rolls his eyes, but he looks a little sheepish and he rinses it out before putting it in the recycling bin. Sam’s glad to be back, to be honest; he had an amazing time, but he does like being in his own space, with his own stuff, and he _does_ love his job.

That doesn’t stop him from planning next year’s vacation. Lord knows by then he’ll need another.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never stayed in the hotel Sam's at, because I am neither rich nor friends with superheroes, but you can look at pictures of it [here.](http://www.halekulani.com/halekulani-moments)


End file.
